


A Palm is Worth a Thousand Words

by volee_weva



Category: Psych
Genre: Drabble, Halloween, Haunted Houses, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Spooky, but make it full of mutual pining, palm readings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 03:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volee_weva/pseuds/volee_weva
Summary: Lassiter gave him a look. “You can’t be serious.”“I can totally read palms.” Shawn grinned in the lowlight, “It’s one of my many psychic abilities.” He reached for Lassiter’s hand. “Lemme show ya.”--In which the SBPD puts on a Haunted House fundraiser, Shawn is a cliche psychic, and Lassie's mask smells bad.





	A Palm is Worth a Thousand Words

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. I volunteer at a lot of haunted houses. And I get inspired. 
> 
> It's in the Halloween spirit to write fic for a dead fandom, right?

This was absolutely ridiculous. And this mask smelled like burnout tires. Carlton Lassiter took the facial monstrosity off, sliding it up into his hairline. Why on earth did the SBPD have to host a fundraiser like this?

Sure, Haunted Houses were in season, but, there must have been better ways to help out the local hospital than a last minute, thrown together haunted house attraction.

Lassiter rolled his eyes as he listened to the screams of patrons in other parts of the house. He was the absolute last scarer, having to physically chase their donors out of the house with a bladeless chainsaw. Nothing could be more kitsch than that.

Except, Carlton bemused, the fact that the room directly before his was the “Psychic” room, where a certain wise guy faux psychic would read the fortunes of their guests, telling them they would meet their untimely demise at the hands of a chainsaw massacre-ist. It was humiliatingly cliche.

At least, that’s how Lassiter saw it. Shawn, despite trying to constantly prove he was truly a psychic and not some sort of stereotype phony, was over the moon about this whole set up, and was wailing on and on in his stupid Madame Cleo voice about the stars aligning and all that bullshit.

Seriously. What had Carlton done to deserve this?

He had just chased away a group, and, after not hearing any more screams from the rest of the house, had dropped his smelly mask to the ground with an unceremonious plep and taken to wandering from his little hideaway niche. He couldn’t stand just being cooped up there for any longer. 

“Spencer.” Lassiter wrinkled his nose as he stepped into the most garish, poorly lit room he’s ever seen, “You think we’re done for the evening?”

Shawn grinned, the beads on his turban shaking with him as he shook his head. “Negatory, Texas Chainsaw Lassiter. The night’s still young.” Lassie frowned at the nickname. 

“But, I’m glad you’re here!! The spirits are toooootally giving me some juicy deets on your future.” Shawn waggled his brows, pointing at the “Free Palm Reading” sign at his table, hanging under his crystal ball.

Lassiter gave him a look. “You can’t be serious.” 

“I can totally read palms.” Shawn grinned in the lowlight, “It’s one of my many psychic abilities.” He reached for Lassiter’s hand. “Lemme show ya.”

“No.” 

“C’mon, Lassie,” Shawn grabbed Lassiter’s wrist with one hand, pulling him closer to his table. “Don’t be a Yellow Starburst.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Lassiter forced himself to ignore the fact that Shawn’s hands were a lot stronger than he had thought.

The so called psychic looked up at him. “Huh?”

“I happen to like yellow starbursts.” Lassiter mumbled.

“Good God, help you.” Shawn’s voice dripped with mock pity. He turned his attention back on Lassiter’s hand, which was closed in a fist. “Now. Open up.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes, and opened his hand, hating how those sparkling green eyes could sway him into playing along with whatever Shawn Spencer’s attention focused on.

Shawn looked practically giddy, and his other hand was immediately at his palm, fingers just ghosting above the skin. A thrill shot down Lassiter’s spine. This was a terrible idea.

The tips of Shawns fingers touched Lassiter’s palm gently, slowly dragging across the callouses, tracing each line like he was painting them on himself. Even Lassiter couldn’t ignore the flush against his cheeks, and he was actually thankful the lighting was so terrible.

“It seems...” Shawn’s voice was soft, almost sultry, nothing like the over-the-top Madame Cleo voice he had been using on haunted house attendees. “Your lifeline is promising. You’ll be healthy in your old age.” He met Lassie’s eyes and winked. “Just be sure to invest in Viagra.”

Carlton twitched, jerking his hand away, but Shawn’s grip tightened, keeping him there. “Money is money, you make some, you spend some, but your love line...”

Lassiter froze, his heart pumping in his ears. Shawn continued, guiding Lassiter’s hand closer to him, up to his face, as if getting a closer look. 

“Your love line is all twisted at the beginning, but flattens out.” Shawn’s breath puffed onto his palm, and Lassiter shivered. 

“It’s almost as if you’ve been battling with yourself about what your heart is feeling.” Shawn stared directly into Lassiter’s eyes, the low light still twinkling against the beads in his turban. “Like you can’t let yourself go enough to be happy.”

“That’s enough, Spencer.” Lassiter’s voice is low, but he doesn’t move. 

“Once you stop hiding your feelings, Lassie.” Shawn pressed the gentlest, most chaste kiss to the palm of Lassiter’s hand. “You’ll find your true love right before your eyes.” 

Lassiter’s whole body was electrified, that he didn’t even hear the shrugged off, “At least, that’s what the spirits tell me.” From a Mr. Shawn Spencer. 

Lassiter, after a few moments of stunned silence, opened his mouth to speak, when he was interrupted by the sounds of screams and footsteps. 

Lassiter yanked his hand away, retreating away from the table and into the niche where he was stationed.

“You’re full of it.” He tried to sound aloof and intimidating, but there was no malice of any kind in his voice.

“Sure, Lassie.” Shawn sounded tired, and Lassiter hated how Shawn knew so much about him.

He shook his head, trying to shake away the flush and the tingling of his hand, and put on that stupid, smelly mask. Showtime.


End file.
